As the autumn leaves begin to fall, some tree tales. The horse chestnut: Last autumn I scattered my conkers generously as usual over the Rectory grass at my feet. But unlike as usual, the vicar failed to sweep them up. They got trodden into the winter turf. Spring, and many germinated, pushing their little roots bravely down into the soil. My children! Their little chestnut-y leaves sprouted. The vicar didn’t cut the grass often. So they grew in strength. Now, this autumn, the vicar is painstakingly having to dig them out – hundreds of them. …
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Rectory notes – Curious cats Curiosity killed the cat, so they say. Not so Grey, our first family pet. A milk-float was the unwitting culprit, young Grey’s tragic final act being to nestle underneath beside its wheel prior to its silent departure. I was about 5. We subsequently got a dog, a wonderful companion through my subsequent childhood. No lasting trauma. Curiosity. Young children starting school this month will brim with it (once early nerves have settled). A child’s natural curiosity is a joy to behold, is it not. Those starting …
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How fast can you run? How high/far can you jump? For most of us reading (and writing) this, probably less fast/high/far than we once could. The Olympics – we marvel at the sporting achievements of those (mostly) younger than us. Ageing. It comes to us all. Our physical and mental capabilities fall away, our energy drops. And that’s OK! ‘You are only as old as you feel,’ they say. Obviously not entirely true! But why should feeling older necessarily be worse anyway? I’m currently reading a book entitled ‘Falling Upward – A spirituality for the …
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The tide ebbs on out. The man finds he needs to walk ever further down beach these days to reach the softly lapping waves. The waves of compassion on the beach of his country’s national life. Where has all the compassion He is pained. He is a compassionate person. Most people he knows are compassionate people. His community is too; there’s always folk willing to help someone out in a crisis. There seems to be no shortage of people seeking compassionate vocations, as nurses or whatever. He still gets a kind word at the supermarket checkout, …
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Long silver boots stride onto the stage. A glittering star-shaped guitar is poised to play. The dinner-jackets and ball-gowns in the audience stir uncertainly. A Swedish female duo clasp their mikes, and launch – ‘Waterloo!’ A new name enters history: Abba. That was 1974. 50 years on, the full Eurovision programme was recently re-broadcast. What a step back in time. The crisp BBC accents. The polite audience. Bow-ties. Hand-driven score boards (entertainingly making occasional errors). Only 17 countries. Due to the death of President Pompidou, …
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